


I <3 The Russians When They Come Bearing Gifts

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3211763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love doesn't always come with words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I <3 The Russians When They Come Bearing Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> From [this prompt here](http://geckoholic.livejournal.com/358006.html?thread=5718390#t5718390).

Romanoff stares at the teaspoon in the little plastic case. “What is this?”

“It’s a souvenir. A gift.” When she continues to stare at the teaspoon, Clint mentally sighs and thinks that Phil is gonna do the eyebrow thing with the ‘hm’ that Clint really hates. This whole ‘playing with the Black Widow’ thing is almost certainly a mistake, but he saw it, and he was feeling whimsical, and—

“A gift?”

“A gift.”

Hill would probably observe that this is all part and parcel of the massive blind spot he has regarding Romanoff. Although her phrasing was more along the lines of: _Most men look at Romanoff and start thinking with their little head. You look at Romanoff and you just stop thinking._

She picks up the case, turns it over in her hands – long-fingered, dangerous hands – and studies the etching on the silver handle. (Yes, Clint has the Black Widow studying etchings, cue all the jokes ever, don’t quit the day job.) Then she smiles. A long, slow, catlike smile that does warm and curling things to a man’s belly and balls, particularly when she’s smiling at him.

“Thank you, Barton.”

\--

Fury looks at the brown teddy bear sitting on his desk, complete with gun and eyepatch. Then he turns to look at Hill, who promptly develops a twitchy mouth and a cough.

“Barton?”

“Actually, sir, I think it might be Romanoff.”

\--

On his way out the door, Phil pauses to fish something out of his pocket and lay it on the desk. “Oh, and while I was in London, I got you this.”

Maria blinks at the packet. “But—You didn’t—?”

She pulls open her desk drawer and pulls out another packet of British boiled sweets. They stare at the little packets – nearly identical, down to the brand stamp, only the flavours varying – raspberry and lemon.

Then Maria sighs. “Should I bother rekeying the codes?”

“She’ll only break them again.”

\--

Phil finds the tickets on his desk; a year’s subscription to the Portland Philharmonic, including Elgar’s Cello Concerto Opus 85.

He doesn’t ask how Natasha knows.

\--

“I got you a gift,” Natasha tells Clint when she’s pretty sure he can breathe again, and hopefully parse what she’s saying to him.

“Yeah, I think I worked out that part.”

She smiles against his shoulder and fingers the thin silver chain that slides so silkily against her skin, the little pendant swinging from her fingertips. “Not that kind of gift.”

 


End file.
